Back to the kitchen

 Like Katie, I didn't do a lot of focused cooking last week. But sadness has never actually suppressed my appetite. Only anxiety does that. And as we've all been noting, one of the buggers about the current situation is not being able to bin off and get someone else to do the cooking for you. Or not easily.

Mercifully, I had scheduled stuff I can pretty much cook with my eyes closed. (Farinata, then aloo chaat salad. Recommended, for comfort purposes.) Over the weekend I started to get itchy to do stuff that wasn't just staring into the void. As I'm no crafter, cooking is often my best way out of that kind of mood - I've been known to chop apples after a terrible day at work, just for the hand work. Also mercifully, this wasn't a weekend when I was indulging my meal kit habit (increasingly indefensible). I was really not in an indulgent place, mentally.

But this probably wasn't the place to start. Asparagus season is very much happening in my kitchen. This was a new cookbook recipe. Asparagus... with eggs... and watercress... and cream... and parmesan... in the oven... served on crumpets. All things I like. Not a way I'm planning to ever make it again.


It tasted fine. But it was needless faff and an almighty mess. Except for the way I slightly needed faff. 

Today, I have Fully Over Faffed, though with better results. I had a corn bread recipe on my list for today (from Carpathia, a recipe book that is really growing on me), with just a salad planned with it. But lurking around the leafy stalls at the market I found packs of nettles*, and I thought... let's try cooking nettles. There's a recipe for a nettle thing in Carpathia, so why not.

Why not is because it's Monday, the bread takes over an hour, the nettles turned out fiddly. Oh well. I managed. And both were really interesting, not regrettable. 

Still, the kitchen mess was... not insubstantial.



 

For the corn bread, it's milk with butter and polenta mixed in, stirred for a couple of minutes and then cooled a bit. Or, as ever, not when it's instant. I had the wet ingredient mix ready to hand and whacked it in very sharpish: egg yolks, ricotta, feta, plain yoghurt, smidge of flour, baking powder, chopped dill. And separarely, stiff-whipped egg whites. Fold it together, inna tin, into the oven.

40 mins on 200degrees, then turn out the oven and leave it for 20 minutes without taking it out of the oven. At this point, having just closed the oven door, realise you've halved all the ingredients but used a biggish tin and have no idea of cooking time. I don't know if literally opening the oven door is forbidden (since you're meant to check for doneness with a skewer test that seems tricky). But I'm going to have to do it.

Overall, I did okay. 30 minutes or so.

Yes, it's very flat. But not heavy, that's just using too big a tin. 

Meanwhile, nettles. I remember mum doing it sometimes, but I've never done nettle cooking myself, so this is experimental. It's intriguing cooking with a thing you can't touch, and I couldn't be bothered fishing out shiny new kitchen gloves for the 5 seconds I'd have used them. Basically just hurl the washed nettles into boiling water and dunk down hard so everything gets boiled for 5 minutes and the stings are neutralised. Fill the kitchen with a slightly unpleasant smell and remember that you hate nettle tea. Ponder your life choices. 

Seething nettles

Drain (SAVE THE NETTLE WATER FOR LATER) and plunge into cold water. Contemplate the evil dark result.

#NoFilter good grief

 Find the actual recipe and realise nettle fricassee is a thing you are now committed to cooking. Nettle fricassee. I feel like a Victorian kitchenmaid.

Chop and onion and 14 cloves of garlic (yep, knew there was a reason I'd noticed this recipe). Chop some spring onion greens. Cook the onion till soft, the, add half the garlic for 2 minutes. Then put in 2tbsps polenta and 1tbsp flour and cook out a minute or two (really interesting this thing where cornmeal is being used like flour in Romania or thereabouts - I didn't expect that, but it keeps happening in this book, and here it's just part of a sauce base). Then add in a hefty slug of your cooked nettle water. 

Contemplate the evil soup you have made. 

Then add the nettles in and cook them for 8 minutes. 

Deeply dubious flecks of polenta all over. Why?

Then add the second half of your sliced garlic, plus spring onion green bits. Season, add olive oil. And serve with "a handful of grated cheese for garnish" and pumpkin seeds. 

That didn't happen, but feta leftover from the bread did. 

This was just a good dinner. Not too fancy. I'm still more interested in doing active and useful things than actually consuming them. But I feel productive.

Oh, what do you know? I'm back on carbs with greens. Who'd have thought?











*Yes, yes I could pick nettles for free in the glorious outdoors but I live in south London. Admittedly every inch of spare rough land is covered in nettles and wild garlic, but it's also covered in dogs shitting enthusiastically. I pay to pretend this lot won't have been near a dog.




Comments

  1. I feel like I should buy you a frilly pinny for when you channel your inner Victorian kitchenmaid!

    Faff seems to be the word of the moment. It feels fitting!

    I'm always impressed with your nerve at trying new things. I need to get out of my cooking rut.

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    Replies
    1. I want a lace cap or no deal.

      Faff does indeed seem to be the word. Except with pastry - you'll be glad to know Stef is very much of the same mind as you (https://twitter.com/stefarchivist/status/1384233615727333380).

      Honestly, I've cooked more new stuff this year than usual, partly because of this blog. I feel like I need content! And, you know, not a lot else to plan...

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    2. Starts searching for an appropriately jaunty yet demure lace cap!

      I'm glad Stef and I are in accord :)

      Yeah, I know what you mean - not a lot else to plan, but I'm being really apathetic at the moment... If I was still at school there would be a note from the teacher saying 'Must Do Better'

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  2. The combined effect of everyone on the blog is encouraging me to try new things: I'm about to order chervil in a veg delivery. I've never even knowingly looked at chervil before, so this is Great Excitement.

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